Just Blood Spatter
by singingstarryknights
Summary: “I’m playing for keeps.” Part of the FIrst Kiss Series.


Just Blood Spatter

…

"I'm playing for keeps."

…

She had only gone over there to ask him about the blood spatter from the case. Did he test _all_ the cast off? Was he aware she was trying to prove there had been two victims, killed simultaneously? Did he get to finish running the samples she had sent him ten minutes before their shifts were over?

He had opened the door, in answer to her curt rapping, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and, after a moment, cocking an eyebrow in her general direction as if to challenge her to ask him if he had done his job. Which he had. Thoroughly. His half conscious eyes swept over her figure quickly, before he settled his gaze to meet hers, leaning on the doorjamb of his apartment, either not realizing he was in his underwear and a tee shirt, or not caring. The latter, she figured. Greg rarely cared about anything when he was woken up.

"I ran it. Jesus, Sara."

"All the spatter? On the bed sheet and on the boxers?" He frowned, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her, and shifted his weight away from the threshold, walking back into the apartment, and leaving the door open. She stepped in briskly, shutting the heavy door with a soft click, watching him as he rummaged through an aged backpack full of paperwork. He peered at a few result sheets wearily, squinting through his tired eyes, before gathering a handful of papers and handing them to her.

"Here. You left before I had a chance to give these to you. Spatter on the bed sheet was from one woman, but the spatter on the boxers was castoff from a male victim exclusively." She frowned. All that told her was that there was another body lying around the city, hacked up and decomposing. She opened her mouth to ask a further question, but he waved his hand dismissively at her, answering it.

"Alleles were not a match for a first degree relative. Or a second. Victims were not related." He sounded mournful, almost, as if the act of giving DNA results was too heavy a labor for him. Disappointment. He was disheartened that he was restricted to testing blood and semen samples a running them through CODIS. She knew he wanted to be out in the field. Wanted to be an investigator. Wanted to get out of the lab. An expert of talking to men about their feeling she was not, but Greg was her friend.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Fine." His terse response only served as an invitation for her to lean back against the arm of his couch, and arch a questioning eyebrow at him.

"Try that again." She crossed her arms over her chest, her expression falling soft as she watched him run a hand through his hair, making it stick up on end, and sigh heavily before speaking.

"I just." Greg frowned, and she sensed he was scrambling to line up the right words. "My world is so small. I love forensic DNA, really. But I'm not happy with it. I just solve the DNA part of the crime. I want the whole crime. DNA is like _Ramona Quimby: Age 8_. You know?"

She frowned at him, utterly confused as to why he was comparing forensic DNA analysis to a children's book. He broke into a faint smile briefly, a tinge of red rising to his cheeks.

"You read _Ramona Quimby_, right? And its good. A classic kid's book. I mean every one loves _Ramona Quimby_. How can you not, right? Everyone loves forensic DNA in the same way. It makes or breaks the case, it gets all the press. I go to court to testify to the DNA samples three times as much as you guys. People love DNA. But people also love _Ramona Quimby_. But you read _Ramona Quimby_ too many times, and it's boring. I mean, Ramona, she cracks a raw egg over her head, thinking it's hardboiled, and the yolk drips down in her face, and everyone laughs at her. That's the climax of the story. There's nothing better. I feel like I might as well be cracking eggs over my head in that lab, I'm bored to tears, and it's driving me up a wall. I'm bored with DNA. It's all the same. Either it's a match to the current case, or a match to an old one. Run it through CODIS, and if you're lucky, it gives you a name and a last known address. That's it. There's no more. That's the extent of what forensic DNA will do. That's all it will ever do. I don't want to read _Ramona Quimby_ for the rest of my career, sit in that lab thirty years from now, mumbling about how the new CODIS processor is more confusing than the old one, and shouldn't we have kept the old one, it does the same damn thing." He offered her an apologetic smile, stuffing a few papers back into his bag before turning back to her.

Sara had no idea Greg was so miserable.

Worse, she had no idea as to how to make it better.

"Greg-"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to unburden my discontent on you. I'm sure there are plenty of reasons why I should stay in DNA. And plenty more why I shouldn't ask for a shot at the level one opening. Maybe I've hit my midlife crisis or something. Does that mean I'm going to die before sixty? That would suck."

"Greg."

"Leaving DNA means leaving DNA's pay, too. And I make almost three times as much as the salary posted for the level one slot. I'd rather have less money in the bank, though, and have meaning in my career, than keep the padding in my pocket and be bored out of my mind."

"Greg."

"I threw out four invitations to speak at Forensics conferences when I got home this morning. Four. They all wanted me to give a lecture, and then go to a nearby college, and give a lecture to grad students. That's insane. I only just got my Master's myself." Greg rubbed childishly at his sleep-laden eyes, ignoring the confused features on Sara's face.

"I didn't know you got your Master's, Greg. How come you didn't say anything about graduation?" She stood, coming to stand before him at a sauntering pace. He flashed her a tired grin, and rested his hands on his hips, along the top of the waistband of his boxers.

"Because I didn't actually get there myself. I got called in midway through the keynote speech. Something about Days needing help on the backlog." He shook his head dismissively at her compassionate expression. "It doesn't matter. They mailed it to me." He was keenly aware that Sara rarely looked at anyone with the heartbroken gaze she was giving him now.

He let her pull him into a hug, relaxing against her, as she ran a soothing hand along his back. He would make an amazing investigator. Greg was brilliantly intelligent, motivated, passionate. She fell a victim to the impulse to press a kiss to the side of his face, and she smiled faintly as she felt his soft chuckle rumble through her, just before he pulled away. There was a teasing sparkle in his eye when he caught her gaze, and he threw her an amused grin.

"So if that's what I get for my Master's, what would I get for my PhD?" Greg teased gently, but Sara only smiled, pulling back enough to lay a hand to the side of his face, feeling the stubble along his jaw. He loosened his grip on her, and started to step away when she pulled him back down, pressing her lips to his.

It took Greg Sanders a mere fraction of a moment to recover from the surprise of Sara's lips against his own. He felt her smile softly into their kiss, and he failed to stop himself from smiling back, catching her lip again, eliciting an inaudible sigh that perked his senses better than any espresso he had ever had. He was about to back away, confront her about her true feelings, make a wisecrack about her intentions, but her fingers found their way across his shoulder, and up into the shaggy hair at the nape of his neck, shooting a jolt of want through his body sharply. He ran a hand along her side, grasping her hip almost possessively, pulling her gently against him as she succeeded in backing him up the few feet to the edge of the table.

Whoa.

This was going a thousand directions a thousand miles an hour.

He had to be sure.

Greg ran his thumb gently along her jaw, softening her expression and breaking their kiss. He leaned comfortably against the edge of his table, tilting his head and pressing a loving kiss to her neck, chuckling softly as she groaned, stepping closer, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He pulled back, looking her directly in the eye before he spoke, trying out his 'no bullshit' tone.

"I'm playing for keeps."

She smiled softly, recovering from her surprise of his hesitancy. The dark of his eyes softened with the years of wanting and not acting, making him look older, tired. He bit his lip nervously, as if he was anticipating her bailing out now. She felt his grip instinctively tighten along her waist only just, bringing tears to her eyes. How could he think she wouldn't want him? How could he possibly not see her feelings, after years of studying her every move?

Sara kissed him quickly before pulling him into a tight hug, running a wayward hand through his hair. She let out a sigh as his arms encircled her waist firmly, and he buried his features in the crook of her neck. Her whisper was soft in his ear, simple.

"I'd like that."

………

A/N: stuck in a RIDICULOUSLY sappy mood. Clearly. I rather liked it. Funny story… this started off as a Greg/Catherine challenge to myself. I got to the kissing part, stared at it for six hours, and had to go back and rewrite it. I was bent on branching out. :crawls back to Sara and Greg sheepishly: I honest-to-God can't write Greg with anyone else. It's physically _impossible_.


End file.
